Mr Loki
by Wings II
Summary: Peter's curious, as per usual, and Loki's willing to answer his questions ... not as per usual.


As per usual, Peter Parker was a bit restless. Most everyone was outside soaking up the hot June sun, but at Pepper's behest, Peter had gone inside to reapply sunscreen. The harsh fluorescent lighting in the downstairs bathroom revealed the beginnings of a harsh sunburn. Continuing down the hallway to his bedroom, where he'd left his sunblock, he noticed a partially open door. This was only notable because said door was nearly always closed. It wasn't like Loki to leave his door ajar, and Peter's curiosity as to why it was open brought him to the doorway.

Inside, an easel blocked Loki from view except for one foot, the other hidden behind an ottoman. Peter knocked quietly on the open door, expecting to be turned away; but to his surprise, Loki said, "Come in."

Peter obeyed hesitantly, not wanting to disturb him. Loki was at this time a quiet, withdrawn person—a recluse, even—and didn't associate much even with Thor. Peter was fascinated with him. When Loki did emerge from his quarters, Peter greeted him with a smile. After a month or so, Loki began to return the gesture, a change that put Peter in the best mood he'd been in for a while. They rarely exchanged words, and though Peter wished that weren't the case, he never pushed Loki to talk. He was aware that he knew the god of mischief much differently than Tony, Bruce, and the others did, but he wasn't yet aware that he cherished their relationship, as sparing as it was.

The curtains in the room had been pulled back to admit a wide column of light, most of which shone on the canvas mounted on the easel. As Peter approached, he asked, "May I see your painting, please, Mr. Loki?" He'd learned early on that Loki found the moniker amusing, so he used it as much as he could.

"Ah. Hello, Peter." Loki moved the easel aside to greet him, though he didn't rise from the sofa. "I suppose you may, yes. I will warn you, however, that I'm out of practice. It's no masterpiece."

"I can't even draw, so I bet it's great, Mr. Loki."

"We'll see. Come sit." He moved the easel back into place, hiding a small smile in the process, and picked up his palette from the ottoman. Cautiously, Peter sat on the sofa next to Loki, who didn't react to the movement.

Sketched on the canvas was a woman seated in an ornate, high-backed chair. Her frame was delicate, with narrow shoulders, a slim waist, and graceful, long-fingered hands folded in her lap. A ghost of a smile curved her lips, accentuating her high cheekbones and pointed chin.

"Who is she?" Peter asked. "She's really pretty."

"Her name was Sigyn." Loki reached beneath his shirt collar and pulled out a chain. On it was a silver ring, unadorned but lovely nonetheless in its simplicity. "This belonged to her until she gave it to me on our wedding day. She insisted that I would keep it safer than she would. Perhaps she was right, seeing as I still have it some three thousand years later." As he mixed Naples yellow into raw sienna, he added, "I loved her dearly. On occasion, I wonder what the world would be like were she still alive."

The color on the palette took on a honey-like hue as Peter watched, mesmerized. Loki frowned at the paint and went to add some cadmium yellow. Just before squeezing it out of its tube, however, he instead waved his hand at the paint already on the palette. The color changed at a dizzying pace—too much yellow was countered immediately with raw sienna, too much sienna with a dash of Thalo gold—until turning to what Peter could describe only as a golden caramel. The paint glimmered as Loki dipped his brush into it and swept long strokes of it down the canvas. Peter realized that all along, Loki had been trying to replicate the color of his wife's hair.

"Did you … did you …" Peter floundered for words, unsure how to articulate what he had just seen. To his relief, Loki answered his question without needing it asked in full.

"Yes, I cheated. Paint alone couldn't reproduce the color, but I thought I would try. It's about the process."

"Why didn't you tell anyone you were married? Or … or does everyone know, and they just didn't tell me?" Peter inquired, still hung up on the fact that Loki had identified the portrait as a likeness of his spouse.

"You weren't left out, Peter," Loki replied. "Of course Thor knows—I should hope he does, since he attended my wedding—but I don't share the story very often."

"Well … I'm sorry she's gone."

Loki put down his brush to study Peter, who quailed beneath the intensity of his gaze. "Thank you," he said, following a silence entirely too long for Peter's comfort. "I hope this portrait will honor her." With a bitter undertone in his voice, he added, "I burned my canvases when she died, but they may as well have burned on the pyre with her."

Peter knew he was treading into murky water, but still he asked, "What happened? Why … why did she die?" He regretted asking as soon as the words left his lips and damned his inquisitiveness. In a vain attempt to hide his embarrassment, he looked away, but a blush had already risen up his neck. At this rate, he figured Loki would never acknowledge him again, let alone smile at him in the hallway.

"I suppose there's no harm in you knowing," Loki replied. He dipped his brush into a puddle of Prussian blue and began to tell a story no one had ever heard before.

"If you have any familiarity with my people's mythos, you may know that I was punished by Odin for bringing fire to man. I thought it needed to happen, but he obviously disagreed. The punishment I received was … severe. For my crime—if one can call it that—Odin killed both of my sons."

"Oh, God," Peter whispered, not quite aware that he was thinking out loud. Loki didn't react, but his voice became more somber with every word he said.

"My elder son, Nari, was eviscerated. The only dignity he was afforded was that he was poisoned first. At the very least, he did not die in pain. My younger son, Váli, was turned to a wolf and left to the mercy of nature. I don't wish to think about how he might have died." He paused and turned towards Peter, who was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "You remind me of Váli. So curious, so brave, so loving." Returning his attention to the painting, he continued, "Odin turned Nari's entrails into iron shackles and bound me to a cliff with them. Above me was the most venomous serpent the world has ever known. Every so often, it drips venom from its fangs. That venom would easily burn a hole through your skin.

"Sigyn endeavored to save me from my suffering. It was more than I deserved, and I told her so, but she wouldn't hear it. We were both mourning at that time, having lost our children to my folly. I refuse to apologize to anyone but the three of them for what I did."

Peter watched with bated breath as Loki darkened the blue with Mars black and began painting shadows on Sigyn's gown. There were no other concrete details, but already he was awestruck, and had been for some time.

"To prevent the snake's venom from burning my skin," Loki went on, "Sigyn held a bronze basin beneath its jaws. Even a tiny drop of the venom was sufficient to cause blinding agony, as it was highly concentrated. The serpent secreted two or three drops of it a day.

"Eventually, the basin had to be emptied, and the snake seemed to know. In the bare few moments it took my wife to pour out its contents, it released a flood of the venom. The pain …" Loki stopped and pulled down his left sleeve. "It was like oil had been poured over me and ignited. Sigyn, too, bears scars from that day."

Peter realized Loki's voice had become toneless, like he was reading from a book. "Mr. Loki, sir, you can … you can stop now, if you want. I'm sorry I asked … I didn't know …" He trailed off, his nervousness getting the better of him.

"Of course you didn't know," Loki replied. Seeing Peter's distress, he spoke soothingly, choosing his words with care. "I told you there was no harm in you hearing the story. Perhaps … perhaps it's better for me that I tell it, if only for the sake of closure." He cleaned his brush and dipped its tip into titanium white. "I walked circles around your original question. You asked me what happened to my wife, and all I've told you is that _I _made a grave mistake."

"I don't mind," said Peter. "I … I thought you'd get there at some point."

"Would you like me to continue, then?"

"Please."

"Very well." Loki took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, Peter wished he could get into the god of mischief's head.

"Rather than killing me outright, the intense pain gave me strength the likes of which I had never before possessed. I must have screamed loudly enough for the entire city to hear, and I nearly caused a rockfall when my chains ripped from their moorings.

"Odin came with several others; together they wrangled me to the ground. The adrenaline left me then and I fainted from the pain, but they refused to let me lie. I was forcibly awoken with smelling salts to watch Odin light a pyre. I thought at first it was for me, and at times I wish it had been. All Odin wanted was for me to see my wife burn to death."

His story complete, Loki's shoulders slumped. On reflex, Peter flung his arms around Loki. His chest ached from the sorrow he felt rolling off Loki in waves, and he didn't know what else to do about it. Several long seconds passed before Loki reciprocated the gesture. When he pulled away, he said, "You share many characteristics with my son. Váli was as affectionate as he was courageous. His only fault was that he looked just like me."

"Is that a bad thing?"

To Peter's surprise, especially considering the solemnity of their conversation, Loki laughed. "Of course it is, given my reputation. People saw a boy who looked just like his father and assumed he would be exactly the same when he grew up, when Váli was in fact my total opposite otherwise. He did, however, grow into himself much faster than I did."

"Who am I supposed to be like when I grow up?" asked Peter. "My dad? My uncle? Mr. Stark?"

"I suppose that's up to you." Loki gestured at the painting and added, "If you don't trust my judgment, she would say the same."


End file.
